Scandal in America
by gemneely
Summary: POST "REICHENBACH FALL"- Sherlock and John have just solved a case, and Mr. Holmes finds himself bored when another doesn't come up. But when an unexpected kind of client calls them, it will not only cure Sherlock's boredom, but bring back memories- and a certain woman- that he never wished but also hoped he would see again.


**Thank you to everyone who is reading this right now! This is my first Sherlock fan fiction, so I'm not used to writing these characters. Sorry if I'm a little repetitive or my grammar is a bit off, it's midnight when I'm editing this and I'm supposed to wake up in 6 hours. Anyways, read and please review!**

* * *

John Watson sat in his usual chair in his flat of 221B Baker Street. His flat mate, Sherlock Holmes, paced about the room. As John blogged about the two detective's most recent case, Sherlock found himself extremely bored.

"Will you sit down? I'm trying to concentrate here," John sighed.

"At least you have something to work on! I need something to do, a case, anything!" Sherlock said, after he stopped pacing and turned to look at John.

"Maybe you could do the dishes for once," The blogger said condescendingly.

Sherlock simply looked at the stack of dishes and cups in the sink and grimaced. He sunk lazily into a chair and rested his head on two fingers. "John you should know by now that there's no way I will do that sort of thing when I'm in this mood. Or ever."

John grunted and went back to his blogging. Sherlock stared at the laptop for a moment, then suddenly raised up out of the chair and walked behind John. He put his hand on the back of the chair and leaned down.

"'The Murderous Model'? That's all you can come up with?" Sherlock said.

"It's... It's a rough draft! I'll think of something better later. Unless you have a better title in mind?" John said, face growing red.

"Well... No, but 'The Murderous Model' is terrible," Sherlock said with a sigh and walked away. "I'm taking a nap."

* * *

"Sherlock! Sherlock, wake up!" A voice said. Sherlock awoke from his dream to two hands shaking him. He groaned and rubbed his eyes, and his vision focused onto Mrs. Hudson.

"Mm, what is it, Mrs. Hudson?" Sherlock said lazily.

"John is on the phone with someone, he told me to come wake you up, it sounds important," The landlady said.

Sherlock nodded and started to stand up when he remembered his state of undress. He groaned and wrapped the sheets around himself.

"Oh, dear, put some clothes on!" Mrs. Hudson cried.

"Later," Sherlock said dismissively.

He walked out of his bedroom and into the living room. John stood in the room, talking to someone. When he noticed Sherlock he waved him in.

"Alright, he's just woken up... Yes, I'll make sure he accepts your case. I'll call you back," John said to the person on the phone and hung up.

"Who was that? And why wouldn't I accept the case?" Sherlock asked, raising an eyebrow.

"A possible client, and because you're stubborn," John said.

"I am not stub-" Sherlock started to say but stopped himself, "Well, tell me who my client is. No, tell me what the case is," Sherlock demanded.

"She hasn't told me what the case is yet. I'm going to call her back,"

"Who. Is. My. Client?" Sherlock said through gritted teeth, becoming annoyed.

"So you will accept it?" John asked, starting to be slightly amused by Sherlock's state of annoyance.

"Yes! For God's sake, who is it?"

* * *

Sherlock and John fetched a taxi to the Knightsbridge Hotel, where the client was waiting. John had called them back before they left, and he refused to tell Sherlock who they were, for he was having fun with his annoyance and to keep the element of surprise.

The taxi pulled up to the hotel and John payed the driver. They stepped out of the car, into the cold air of London. Sherlock popped up the collar of his coat and walked towards the door.

When they opened the door of the hotel, and saw what the inside was like, John wondered how their client could ever have afforded this.

Sherlock looked around the lobby, even though he had no idea what the client looked like.

"Where did you agree to meet them?" Sherlock asked.

"The library," John answered.

They both searched for the library, and soon enough Sherlock found it, a little ways off from the lobby. The two walked in the room, and quickly found someone there, considering it to be a rather small library. In the room was a girl waiting for them.

Sherlock studied her. She was fourteen or fifteen years of age. Her hair was blonde and naturally straight. She was wearing little to no makeup, and her eyes were slightly bloodshot, so she could have been crying earlier on. She was wearing an over sized sweater and jeans with leather boots, and an umbrella was perched on the chair, so she planned to go outside later. Her nails were uneven as though she had been biting them, and blue polish was peeling off, but she peeled it off herself.

When Sherlock and John closed the door, the girl looked up at them. Sherlock was slightly surprised- he expected to see a scared little girl, but she seemed confident. Then, a spark of familiarity filled his mind for a second. She looked like someone he knew...

"Sherlock Holmes and John Watson?" The girl asked, with an American accent, slightly southern.

_Most likely Tennessee or Virginia... But what is she doing in England?_ Sherlock thought. He looked at John and noticed he was wondering the same thing. Then he cleared his throat and looked back at the girl.

"Yes, I'm Sherlock Holmes, and John Watson is my partner," Sherlock said, "and I'm guessing you're my client?"

"Well, only if you accept this, then yes," the girl said.

"God, why does everyone think I'm stubborn? Yes, I will take it. First, what is your name?"

"Taryn O'Neil, and good," she said.

"So tell us, Taryn," said John, sitting down, "why are you in England? Are you alone?"

"Yes, I am alone. I flew as an unaccompanied minor and... Used my step-mom's credit card to buy this hotel room," Taryn said, her face growing slightly pink when she said the last part.

"Okay, but why are you here? Do your parents know?" John asked.

"Who are you, my mom? I used my step-mother's credit card without her knowing to buy this hotel and the plane ticket. Do a little deduction, Mr. Holmes, of course they don't know," Taryn said, almost shouting, her eyes getting wide.

"Alright, alright, we just don't want to be responsible for a runaway child," Sherlock said annoyed. He rested his head on his two fingers.

"Oh, I didn't _completely _run away... My mother knows I'm here. But she doesn't live in America, she lives somewhere around here," Taryn said matter-of-factly.

"Really? Who is she?" John asked.

"I, um..." Taryn stammered, "she told me not to tell you... Yet."

"'Yet?'" John repeated.

"Oh for God's sake, her mother's name does not matter at the moment. What does matter is the reason she is here and the reason we are helping her," Sherlock snapped, rubbing his temples. Taryn stared at him, offended and annoyed._  
_

"He's grumpy," John said to her.

"Yeah, I can tell... Anyways, I'm here because..." Taryn started to say, but her face fell dark.

Sherlock sighed loudly, and John looked at him with a face that said _"Was that necessary?"_

"My father was murdered," she said. There was a small silence in the room.

"I'm terribly sorry to hear that, but, what made you come to us? All the way from America?" John asked.

"And are you sure it was even murder?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes of course it was a murder, how would she not know?" John said.

"Actually, no, Sherlock is right. People think it was a suicide. But I knew my father better than anyone else. He was happy, all the time. The only thing that made him unhappy was my step-monster, Loretta." Taryn said, "She found his body when I was at school. He was hung, and there was even a note." She did air-quotes when she said 'found'.

"But...?" Sherlock said, knowing there was more to it.

"I know it wasn't suicide. I read the note, and his reasons don't make any sense for him to do it. I came to you because no one would listen to me, they assured me it was suicide. So I came here, and my mom actually recommended you, Mr. Holmes."

"So your mother _does _know us?" John asked.

"Yes, but don't ask who she is again, I can't say."

"How did the note not make sense to you? Do you have a photo of it?" Sherlock asked.

"Actually, I have it," Taryn said and reached into her pocket. She pulled out a lined sheet of paper and handed it to Sherlock, "I'm pretty sure it's not even his handwriting."

Sherlock took the note and unfolded it. He studied the handwriting and immediately noticed the flaw.

"She's right, it's not his," he said.

"How did you know?" Taryn asked.

"It's a woman's handwriting. She was trying to impersonate Mr. O'Neil's handwriting, and but couldn't quite copy the way a man writes."

Suddenly, a vibrating noise sounded in the room. Sherlock and John looked at Taryn, where the sound came from. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a white iPhone. She looked at the screen and mumbled under her breath.

"Hold on," she said and walked over to the other side of the room. She answered the call and started talking with whoever was on the other line. Taryn looked frustrated, and started twirling her hair. Sherlock could hardly make out the voice on the phone- it was a woman's, and it sounded vaguely familiar. He couldn't tell since it was so quiet. Then, Taryn sighed and said one last word before hanging up. She walked over to the two men and stood in front of them, but mainly facing Sherlock.

"That was actually my mother on the phone. She told me to tell you something, and you would know what it meant, Mr. Holmes, and you would know who she is," Taryn said.

"What did she say?" Sherlock asked.

"'Vatican cameos.'"


End file.
